And a bottle of champagne
by maytheoddsPN12
Summary: A short Everlark drabble, inspired by Tumblr prompt: "two miserable people at a wedding." AU.


_22. two miserable people at a wedding au _

"Oh, Katniss! You look absolutely _stunning!" _Delly gushed, her perfectly manicured hands flying to her cheeks, her engagement ring and polished wedding band glinting in the harsh light of the reception hall.

Only Delly Cartwright could manage to make her wedding day all about her guests.

Katniss forced a tight smile at her co-worker. "Thank you," she mumbled, spreading her hands over the fitted hunter green dress. "Um, congratulations. It was a… nice service."

"I'm so glad you made it after all," Delly continued, as if Katniss hadn't spoken at all. "I simply couldn't imagine celebrating without you!"

Katniss fought back the urge to snicker. Was Delly aware of how insane she sounded? It wasn't as if they were best friends around the office. They shared a cubicle, sometimes ate lunch together when their breaks coincided. She'd listened politely over cups of lukewarm coffee in the breakroom while Delly blathered on about her engagement party, the wedding's color scheme, whether or not she should book a band for the reception, and so on. The subsequent invitation to Delly's wedding, Katniss assumed, was borne out of pity. And that's why she was tempted to decline.

Somehow, Johanna had persuaded her to go. "Look. It's an open bar. You go, you socialize a little with people from your office, and if it's really that terrible, you get completely plastered and make out with the best man," she'd said matter-of-factly while Katniss agonized over the invitation at their dingy kitchen table. "Besides, it's my duty as your roommate and friend to make sure you have a social life. Even if it is a really pathetic one."

Katniss had rolled her eyes, but her reply card, which she mailed a day after the RSVP deadline, stated that she would "happily attend." And a timid, faint X at the bottom of the card denoted that she was going stag.

So here she was, wearing a too-tight green dress with the tags tucked in, and a pair of slim nude pumps that Johanna had practically forced on her. Her feet ached, her cheeks trembled from pretending to smile, and her hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders that she longed to pull back into a braid. And she was stuck in this receiving line, offering thin words of congratulations to people she'd never met, and a cubicle mate she could barely tolerate on a good day.

God, she was miserable.

She found her name on a delicate little place card, adorned with a tracing of a lily, at Table Twelve. And judging by the few slack-faced people occupying the chairs at the round table, she knew she'd been relegated to the singles' table. An indignity in itself.

Katniss slid into her seat with a groan. Kicked off her heels under the table and let out an audible sigh of relief. Now, if she could just get her hands on a glass of Glen McKenna….

Someone fell heavily into the seat beside her. But Katniss was too absorbed in her own miserable state to so much as glance in their direction. Instead, she fixed her sights on the bar across the way, which was still in the process of being stocked.

She heard her new seatmate clear his throat. Unbidden, she turned in his direction. Immediately regretted her decision, because she felt her stomach do a flip at the sight of him. Wavy blond hair, cobalt eyes, a set of coral lips. She had to lower her gaze to the table just to prevent a blush from creeping up her neck.

"God, I need a drink," he intoned. "I can tell already that this is gonna be a long night."

Katniss glanced back up at him. He was tugging at his tie, a cross look settling over his objectively attractive features. "What makes you say that?" she heard herself saying archly. As if the embarrassment of just meeting his eyes wasn't enough to make her want to burst into flames.

He shrugged, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. "Weddings are… painful enough," he says slowly, choosing his words carefully, as if aiming not to offend. But she turns in her chair to face him, to show him that she's listening. "Not that I'm opposed to the idea of two people settling down, committing to each other for the rest of their lives. I'm just objecting to being forced to endure it for a weekend, especially with my family here, breathing down my neck. Asking me when I'm getting married." Katniss arched an eyebrow at this, and he cracked a lazy smile. "So, yeah. Weddings suck when you're stuck at the singles' table."

"Agreed." Katniss studied the man in silence for a moment. "You said your family was here?"

"I'm the cousin," he offered. "Delly's cousin." After a beat, he extended a hand to her. "I'm Peeta."

"Katniss," she returned, taking his hand in hers. It felt warm and calloused against her own. "I'm the co-worker. I share a cubicle with Delly in the accounting department."

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "Do you?"

"Yeah, um. She's sweet, but she can be… a bit much." Katniss's eyes widened when she realized what she'd just spoken aloud. "Shit, I—I mean—"

He laughed instead, a low and hearty sound. "Don't worry about it. I know what you're talking about," he explained. "If you knew the amount of effort that she put into trying to fix me up with a date for this…"

"Oh, I can imagine." And, in spite of her best efforts, Katniss actually slipped up and smiled at him.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to take her seat at the singles' table, choke down a rubbery piece of chicken, and spend her evening sidling up to the bartender before ducking out just before Delly had the chance to toss her bouquet into a crowd of wedding-hungry bachelorettes. She wasn't supposed to start chatting up the gorgeous blond man sitting next to her. She wasn't supposed to smile. She wasn't supposed to feel a rush of unexpected warmth when he smiled back.

She wasn't supposed to check her self-awareness at the door with her coat, or murmur a quiet _okay_ when Peeta shyly met her eyes as the beginning strains of "She Will Be Loved" began to pour from the speakers and sheepishly asked her to dance.

She wasn't supposed to sneak a bottle of champagne with him in the gazebo on the hotel's grounds. She wasn't supposed to open up to him about how she'd been struggling in the months since Gale left her, or feel a surprising pang of sympathy when he told her about his broken engagement last year.

She wasn't supposed to kiss him first.

But she supposed, feeling his warm lips pressed against hers and his hands trailing down her back, that this was better than wallowing in self-pity. In fact, it was—dare she say it—kind of nice. Comforting, even.

"Okay, I take it back," Peeta breathed into her ear long after she'd pulled away from their kiss. "Maybe the singles' table—isn't so terrible after all."

It was ridiculous how much she agreed.


End file.
